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En Vivo de Martinica
For All Nails #128: En Vivo de Martinica by David Mix Barrington (with help from Matt Alderman and Mike Keating) ---- :VIOLA: Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness// Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. :Twelfth Night, Act II, Scene 2 :Gran Hotel "Volcan" FN1 :Fuerte-Mexico, Martinica, USM :26 October 1974 Lupe Sanpietro knew that he was a lucky man. Oh, his talent was a big part of why he was here, with a semi-regular gig on Mexico's hottest Spanish-language vita program. He was good -- his combination of slapstick comedy in two languages, weight lifting, and juggling had made him one of the stars of the Alaskan saloon-hall circuit. But if it hadn't been for the vagaries of foreign politics, the producers of Sábado Gigante would never have plucked him from provincial obscurity to portray a particular foreign leader. And he would never have had the services of writers clever enough to somehow render that leader's convoluted English into equally convoluted Spanish -- writers who could make him a national star. He would never have invented the new Spanish verb hornsuaglar himself, for example -- but now after he'd appeared only three times on Sábado Gigante, it was well on its way to entering the Mexican Spanish lexicon. The vagaries of Mexican politics might have an equally major effect on tonight's guest host, Lupe thought. He had no idea whether the President could survive the current impeachment proceedings, and establish his power to fire the Secretary of War. The Estadio Calles speech had helped him a lot (talk about saloon-hall theatre with a rowdy crowd) and it seemed he had a good chance of prevailing in the upcoming elections. What would Mercator do in retirement? Would he stay with Sábado Gigante, or pursue a dignified retreat from public life? Lupe thought the writers were secretly rooting for El Popo to come out on top, actually. Political awkwardness had led over the years to an unofficial ban on any mention of the President on the show. If the situation resolved itself, some other actor could be plucked from obscurity to portray "the man with two second languages." FN2 "We are the world", indeed! Here was the makeup girl, Anita. Since the show was on the road this week in Las Antillas, they had picked up a temporary worker, but she seemed to be qualified and she was certainly charming. "Mr. Sanpietro?" "Call me Lupe, honey, please." The girl giggled and brandished a strange object. "Here's the cone for the fantascience sketch. I checked, we've got seven minutes after you come off from the bit with the pig. I'd like to have two or three to make sure we've got this thing glued on securely, so change fast! I'll be right here. It's a very good sketch, Lupe, I mean, you're really funny in it." "Thank you dear, it's mostly the writers--" A shrill male voice interrupted from the hallway. "Makeup! Anita, dear, the Secretary needs you right now!" "Got it! See you soon, Lupe, break a leg!" She blew him a kiss and darted out the door. Cute girl, Lupe thought, and once again began mentally rehearsing himself through his first sketch. ---- "I'm Makeup, Mr. Secretary, how can I help?" "Ah yes, Anita, is it? I am not entirely confident of the highlights on my forehead, I would like an expert opinion." She had heard that voice hundreds of times. In person it reminded her even more of fine leatherwork, smooth and dark. She bent to examine the suspect forehead, and set to work adjusting it. "I can fix this, Mr. Secretary, it'll just take a moment." "Thank you, my dear girl. You are from this island, are you not? And from New Granada before that, I believe, from your accent?" "Why yes, Mr. Secretary, I grew up in Medellin until my father came here to work building the hotels. I'm a Mexican now." The nose wasn't quite balanced, he needed more powder on the left... "A citizen?" He could see her nod in the mirror. "Are you ready to vote next week?" "For delegate? FN3 I suppose so, I've seen all the signs for Morrison in the streets -- do you have any advice?" "Ah, James Morrison, another joiner of our common profession of the stage with the world of politics. As is his patroness, Secretary del Rey. My dear, I would never advise you how to vote -- as a military man I try to remain above politics though of course it embroils me from time to time. But I would not have you overlook Señor Manzarek because he has not so many signs to his name as does Mr. Morrison. They are both good men, either would serve Mexico and Las Antillas well. But I served with Manzarek many years ago, I have, shall we say, a sentimental feeling towards him." "Well, I guess I should vote for him, then, I'm sure you know best." "I would like to think so, my dear, but I am never sure. How much more pleasant to take the stage, where we all have our roles and our lines, and we all work for the pleasure of the audience and for our pride in each other. There are times in public life when the audience does not love us..." The voice trailed off into thought, thoughts to which Anita left him as she finished his face. Corinthian, Anita thought, that was the word they used for his voice and style. Elegant, full of detail, like the curly things and tiny leaves at the top of the columns El Jefe had established as the style for public buildings. She drew the application pad away from the face and gave the actor a vigorous and silent nod. An answering smile from under the thin, neatly trimmed moustache, and she was off to her next task. ---- "Carte." Felipe Jackson watched as the croupier drew his third card from the shoe and turned it face up. Ha! A five, giving him seven, an almost sure win. His opponent took his own useless third card and watched as the croupier swept his chips into Felipe's pile, gracefully removing the house cut. Felipe put out his next bank. "Un banco de vingt mille dolars." "Banco." The new guy, next in line to bet, wanted to play for the whole stake. A tough guy? He didn't look it, more like a reproducer salesman dressed up for the occasion, with a Mexican lack of fashion sense. (As Mexican as he was in truth himself, Felipe in his current role as the wealthy Tory "Phil Jackson" was of course dressed impeccably in a tuxedo.) This was truly a stupid game, Felipe reflected. The local version allowed for some player decisions, unlike the European game with its third card rules, but those decisions seldom mattered. (In chemin-de-fer's Mexican cousin Vientiuno, a shoe that was rich or poor in face cards could affect the odds noticably enough to make card-counting worthwhile, but that effect was negligible here.) The problem was that David Flin played chemin-de-fer in his films, usually in someplace like Minorca... The cards came out. The salesman casually flipped his over and said "Huit" with an atrocious French accent. It was a natural, beating Felipe's six with no need for a third card. He opted to go double-or-nothing. "Suivi." The salesman nodded. The croupier announced "Un banco de quarante mille dolars." At least this game was the one place on this island you could still hear some French. FN4 Who was this salesman? He looked familiar somehow, but Felipe couldn't place him. Of course when someone bancoed David Flin in a film, or vice versa, it always turned out to be someone like the sinister Dragan Antulov or one of his minions. This man didn't seem to be the mad villain type, though, more like one of the throngs of ordinary men around the world who dreamed of being David Flin. Jesus, he was even drinking a pomme de terre, shaken not stirred! The fierce potato liquor from the benighted Tory dependency of Nova Scotia, with a bit of vermouth. The illegally produced raw version of the liquor, he'd heard, was something of a challenge to one's machismo, but the blander stuff the Nova Scotians exported commercially was merely unpleasant. It was Mount Gay rum punch for him -- why drink alcohol imported to the Caribbean when they made the best right here? The cards came out. Four for him. Shit. Well, five ways to help and only four to hurt. "Carte." An eight, giving him two. The salesman, or mad villain, or whoever he was, flipped over a ten and a three and claimed the bank. Staying with the four might have won. Enough of this, he was still somewhat ahead for the whole evening, he had a vita program to catch, and later he could probably find some people who didn't know how to play poker. Felipe offered a winning smile to the man who had bested him. "I am afraid I must pass the shoe. I congratulate you, Señor--" "Gordon. Larry Gordon." "I hope we meet again, Señor Gordon. My name is Jackson, Philip Jackson." There, that ought to be enough Flinnish dialogue to make this guy's night, especially if he was smart enough to hang on to the forty bills he'd just picked up. Felipe surrendered his seat at the table to a fairly good-looking norteña in a backless blue evening dress and maneuvered himself closer to the two-meter-wide large-viewer vita receiver opposite the bar. This was not a program to miss, even if it weren't being broadcast en vivo from the packed ballroom upstairs. "En vivo del Gran Hotel Volcan in la ciudad de Fuerte-Mexico in la isla de Martinica, es la noche de Sábado Gigante!" Don Francisco beamed out at his audience, both in the ballroom and on vitavision receivers across the nation. After the usual unctious banter, he welcomed tonight's guest host, "the beloved Secretary of War of our great nation, Don Vicente Mercator!" ---- :Excerpts from Sábado Gigante final script, 26 October 1974 :handwritten annotations from senior production staff. :from Spanish. Opening Title: "Levantando Pesas Con Hans y Franz" is the usual weight room with barbells, etc., lying around, but the usual alpine backdrop has been replaced with an equally fake tropical-island one. HANS and FRANZ are both already onstage, wearing their usual singlets, weight belts, and spiked headgear but also carrying garish beach towels. :HANS: Guten abend everyone! I am Hans! :FRANZ: And I am Franz! :HANS: And we are here to pump clap you up! But first, before we can pump you up, we welcome you to the island of Martinica, where there are many beaches! Ja, Franz? :FRANZ: Ja, Hans, today we have been on these beaches to display our firm manly bodies, and we have found a new friend who is also having the firm manly body, and we have been inviting him to visit us on our show! :HANS: So please welcome to "Levantando Pesas Con Hans y Franz" our new friend, Lennie! LENNIE, also in singlet and weight belt that show Lupe's real muscles to advantage (in contrast to H & F's obvious padding). Lennie's singlet is blue denim, modeled after Skinner's trademark farm overalls. :LENNIE: I'm real happy to be here, happier than a pig in shit. :FRANZ: Lennie has a firm body, but he speaks a very strange language, ja, Hans? :HANS: Ja, Franz, but I think it is a very pumped language, not like all those other little North American girlie-men! :LENNIE: I was just saying that a big old black bear can't lay eggs. :HANS: But maybe it is a big flabby girlie bear. Ja! You want us to lay the egg? I turn your insides out and reach in and grab the egg and then maybe I eat it for my breakfast! Ja! Franz, how do you like your eggs? :FRANZ: Oh, I like them scrambled, ja. :HANS: Hear me now and believe me later, Franz; only a girlie man eats scrambled eggs. You must eat them raw like Sylvester Balboa, ja. But that is beside the point because we are here to pump clap you up! Lennie, are you ready to be pumped up? :LENNIE: Well, I usually start off lifting six months to get myself in the mood a little, then go up to a year, how's that sound? :FRANZ: Hans, are you understanding what Lennie is talking about? :HANS: Nein, Franz, I am not understanding, but I am thinking-- officious knock on the weight room door UR, fitted into the backdrop. Enter MAJOR DIETER through that door, wearing [[Germany|German] Army tropical field uniform. Seeing him, HANS and FRANZ come to exaggerated attention.] :HANS: It is our good German friend Major Dieter! Guten abend, Herr Major! :DIETER: Guten abend, Hans. Guten abend, Franz. Lennie What is this man doing here? :FRANZ: This is our new friend Lennie with his firm body, ja? :DIETER: Guten abend, Lennie. Would you like to touch my revolver? :LENNIE: Why, I purely don't think so. :DIETER: You are beautiful and angular, in addition to being, um, pumped. You are indeed most bizarre. And from where are you coming, to visit our German weight room? Touch my revolver. :LENNIE: Why, I'm from beautiful old Georgia! :DIETER: Ah, Georgia, where our German armies are always having the great victories over the disorganized bandits, ja? It is near Persia, nicht war? :FRANZ: Ja, the flabby girlie country where the men wear dresses and they make the little rugs! :DIETER: Silence. You are beginning to become tiresome. glances around for Dieter's guards :LENNIE: Why, are you trying to hornswoggle me? I've never seen no German armies in Georgia. :HANS: I think perhaps you are mistaken, Herr Major, Lennie has said that he comes from the part of Toryland that is over that way gesturing, on the other side of Boricua! :DIETER: Boricua, ja, this is the place where a hundred German army clerks are also having the great victories over the disorganized bandits, ja? nudges LENNIE in the ribs. LENNIE: taking umbrage Disorganized bandits? Why you muskrat-kissing chicken-plucker, those were good Tory soldiers, and that battle was a sister-kisser! You think you're the goat's pajamas, let's see you lift -- I bet you couldn't get six months off the ground! DIETER: Your agony is gorgeous. I must be slapped. I would like to see your firm pump-ed body covered completely in sores. Touch my revolver. is even more offended, and HANS and FRANZ become concerned that the jovial mood of their show is being broken. HANS takes DIETER aside and brings him toward the door UR, where they begin to talk inaudibly. FRANZ: Here, Lennie, mein freund, I will show you how a German lifts-- starts toward a heavy-looking but completely fake barbell. LENNIE, not yet mollified, siezes it before FRANZ can and easily tosses it offstage R, where we here a loud CRASH including breaking glass. FRANZ goes off R momentarily to inspect the damage. HANS and DIETER both angrily approach LENNIE. HANS: Hear me now and believe me later, Lennie, we are going to grab your jockstrap and give you the wedgie of your life? FRANZ L: This Tory pig has destroyed our mirror which we are using for looking at our pumped bodies! LENNIE: Pig? I'll show you a pig! In Georgia we don't lift no loco-mo-bile axles. We lift livestock. offstage L Arnold! Soo-ee! ARNOLD, a pig, trotting. He sits like a dog next to LENNIE. note: "Bill, I'm still not comfortable with a live pig on the set." "De nada, Miguel, Lupe says Arnold's as obedient as any dog, and it's worked fine in rehearsal all week." LENNIE: Now Arnold here is two and a half years, and a better specimen of prime hog flesh you'll never see in a month of Sundays. Arnold, assume the position! stands on four feet in front of LENNIE, who grabs him with an arm under each pair of legs and executes a neat clean-and-jerk, raising ARNOLD completely over his head. HANS, FRANZ, and DIETER are struck dumb. As LENNIE puts ARNOLD down, the SECRETARY enters DL. notes: "You got an ad lib planned for when he drops the damn pig and it starts running around?" "Yeah, yeah, de nada." SECRETARY: Excuse me, Hans, Franz, Major Dieter. I ask your pardon, my German friends, but I would like to speak with your guest for a moment. Major, is it not perhaps the time when you march? DIETER: Jawohl, Herr Secretary! executes a parade-ground turn and exits goose-stepping through the door UR, taking part of the backdrop with him. SECRETARY: Gentleman, your guest has a great gift. [Handwritten notes: "You're damn sure the Secretary is ok with this?" "Yeah, yeah, he thinks it's really funny, stop squeezing my eggs."] HANS: Ja, Herr Secretary! Of course you may speak to Lennie, ja, he has a firm pumped body, no? SECRETARY: Yes, of course, but the gift of which I speak is his use of language. Here, Lennie, is it? Would you please read this for me? him a crumpled paper. LENNIE reading, then increasingly improvising: "The impeachment power over all officials of the United States of Mexico is vested by the Constitution of the United States of Mexico solely in the Assembly of the United States of Mexico." And impeachment is like when the he-coon walks before the light of dawn. When the cuckoo twitters, the green beans better get some cover on 'em. You just have to judge a man by the color of his pig, and by how high he can lift it. SECRETARY: This is marvelous. Lennie, I would like you to come with me to be my new press spokesman. exit together DL. FRANZ: Well, Hans, it is certainly good that we could help the Secretary, ja? HANS: That is good, Franz, but another thing is not so good. He has given us something to hear now, and something to think about later. FRANZ: And what is that, Hans? HANS: If our new friend Lennie is going to be on the vita all the time and all the time lifting the porkers, we are going to have to be showing our audience how to be lifting the porkers too. FRANZ: Ach, Hans, I am not thinking about that. HANS: No, Franz, you flabby dummkopf, you are not thinking about anything. But now you better start thinking about how to pump up our manly bodies some more so we can lift the porkers! FRANZ: Ja, Hans, I start by saying "auf wiedersehn" to the audience! Auf wiedersehn, my friends, and come back next week, when I will be Franz, HANS: And I will be Hans, BOTH: And we will be here to pump clap you up! Closing Title: (crudely altered from opening title): "Levantando Puercos Con Hans y Franz" ---- :Aboard Private Yacht Jonquille, in harbor :Fuerte-Mexico, Martinica, USM :27 October 1974 Evolution, Felipe had read, had endowed the human male with a taste for variety in sexual partners. In the wild, females chose their mates carefully before investing years of their lives in a child, while males fared best by impregnating as many different females as possible. FN5 The Turnerites claimed that their practice of plural marriage accepted this reality while still supporting stable family units for raising children. Felipe had willingly accepted fidelity to Astrid as part of the marriage package. Like her, he was free to stray for professional reasons, but these were rarer than you might think, certainly rarer than in David Flin films. (Since most intelligence targets were male, seducing them tended to be a female prerogative.) FN6 But it seemed to have a profound effect on his unconscious mind that the woman who had returned from the hotel to the yacht (by a circuitous route) on this early morning did not look like Astrid at all. He had made love to this giggly, sultry New Granadan party girl with particular enthusiasm, feeling the forbidden thrill of adultery as at the same time (at the very back of his mind) he knew that he was making love to his devoted Scandinavian wife, the center of his existence. Perhaps he was now a sort of Turnerite himself, married to all the different women contained within Astrid. At any rate, they were now, in the afterglow, ready to discuss what each had learned at the Volcan the night before. "So you met the Secretary himself." "I met the man that everyone called the Secretary, and that most everyone seemed to think was the Secretary. But he wasn't." "You're sure?" "Felipe, I was all over the man's skin. He's South Asian, northern Indian if I had to guess. Not the mostly blanco Mexican everyone knows Vincent Mercator to be. He does look just like the pictures, and the voice is dead perfect, but this guy was a double. An actor." FN7 "Hmm. The Mapmaker hired a bunch of doubles back in the sixties, when he really thought Kramer was gunning for him. Whenever he moved, there were a bunch of other Mercators moving to different places. But I never heard of anyone taking over for him in public appearances. You really think he could get away with it on live vitavision?" "The man I made up in that room was not Vincent Mercator." "Alright, Astrid, so he wasn't Vincent Mercator. But he talked right to the camera. in close up! We recorded the program, right? I want to see the opening again." "Sure." Astrid, always more physically energetic at such moments, popped off the bunk and went to the vitarecorder. After a second at the controls FN8 she turned around and faced him. Damn, Felipe thought, enjoying the view. Anita really does have bigger breasts than Astrid. How the hell does she do that, stark naked? Something with muscles in the shoulders? The vitatape automatically rewound, stopped, and began with the opening of Sábado Gigante. Don Francisco once again unctuously greeted his audience in the ballroom and across Mexico, he introduced Mercator, Mercator spoke to the audience, the camera went into closeup-- "Astrid, stop the tape!" "You just want to watch me walk across the room again." "No, I'm serious, do it, please!" She shrugged (affecting Felipe's concentration yet again), got up, and went to the controls. Mercator began speaking rapidly backwards in closeup, jumped to full-body view, embraced Don Francisco, and left the stage in a silly sped-up backwards walk. Astrid hit a button and he walked on normally once again, embraced Don Francisco, began to speak, jumped into closeup-- "There! Freeze it!" She complied, catching Mercator with his mouth open. "Look at the curtain behind him. It's not even quite the same color. And that is Mercator's face, I've met the man. But you're right too, he's not in the hotel ballroom!" "You're saying they taped the closeup, then fed it to the broadcast while the double was still talking on stage?" "It's gotta be. We'll have to look, but I don't think he was in closeup much at all. And a good actor can fool a live audience, and even a vita audience as long as they don't get a good look at him." "So if he's on vitatape, the real Mercator could be anywhere in the world!" "Aha!" Felipe's voice suddenly took on a higher, shriller, pitch, in his not terribly good impersonation of the English actor Ruthven Basildon. FN9 "Not just anywhere. Run the tape forward, please, my good Doctor, yes,... freeze! What do you see?" Astrid was willing to play along, adopting Wat Johnson's perpetually confused 'Dr. Bruce' voice. "I see nothing, Jeremy." "On the contrary, my darling beautiful sexy Doctor, you see as well as I! You observe nothing! Note the electrical port there, to the left, at the base of the curtain. Sloppy of them to leave it in shot like that." "Eight sides FN10 ... Felipe, he's in New Granada! Or Europe, but he can't be in Europe -- New Granada!" She returned to the Dr. Bruce voice. "Brett, this is amazing!" "Elementary, my dear Doctor!" He resumed his normal voice. "I wonder how long he's been there -- he doesn't make many public appearances, and people just assume he's in Coyoacan--" Astrid thought for a moment. "There was the beauty pageant in Tampico on the 28th. There were a lot of celebrities there, I'll bet that was really him." "Wait a minute, celebrities, does this mean Don Francisco was in on the switch here?" Astrid nodded. "Wouldn't surprise me, he and Mercator are old friends -- if Mercator said it was national security of course he'd help. You wouldn't need to have too many people to pull this off, Felipe, really you wouldn't. The director, stage manager, the host, a couple others -- a whole lot of the backstage people were temporaries like me anyway, who'd never seen the real Mercator." "New Granada. Now what would the Secretary of War of the United States of Mexico be doing there? I wonder..." ---- Forward to FAN #129: The Language of Love. Forward to November 1974: Welcome to the Jungle. Forward to Caribbean: Apocalypse Soon. Return to For All Nails. Category: Caribbean